Page 63 of Holding Grace

“I was walking home,” Grace continued, “just kind of watching the people and enjoying the night. I’d just turned the corner at 9th when I heard footsteps. Something slammed into the side of my face then the man grabbed me from behind and lifted me up.”

“I kicked and screamed and tried to reach behind me to scratch his face. He set me down but didn’t let me go. I was able to kind of kick backwards and kick him in the crotch. When I did that, he shoved me into the wall, and I think maybe I hit my head again. All I remember after that is hearing some voices. I don’t know if that was there, or in the ambulance, or what. I woke up here.”

I felt Mercy’s hand cover mine and looked down to see her gripping the fist I’d unconsciously made on the cushion between us. We’d heard pieces of the story from Grace but hadn’t wanted to ask her to relive it. Listening to her now, picturing her fighting for her life...the rage that swam inside me was unlike anything I’d ever felt.

“Did he say anything?”

Grace winced as she frowned slightly, a sure sign that her head was hurting her again. “He said something like ‘he better pay up now.’ I think he called me a bitch.”

“That’s it? Nothing else?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Your bag was found at the scene with you. Did he try to grab it at any point? Demand money, anything like that?”

Grace gingerly shook her head. “Nothing like that. The only thing he grabbed was me.”

“Did you get a look at him? Could you describe him?”

Grace shook her head again. “He came up behind me. He was a little taller than me, beefy if that makes sense. He had dark hair on his arms.”

“Did he seem familiar in any way?”

“No. I’m sure I don’t know him.”

From the description she’d given me earlier of Ellis and Seth it didn’t sound like either of them.

“Did you notice any tattoos on his arms or hands, or any scars? Maybe jewelry?”

“No, nothing.”

“When you reached back to scratch his face did you feel facial hair? Did he have a beard?”

Grace paused, closing her eyes like she was trying to form a picture in her mind.

“He did,” she confirmed. “It was short, but longer than just scruff.”

“Did you feel any piercings?”

Grace closed her eyes again, but quickly shook her head after just a few seconds. “Nothing I could feel.”

“Okay. When he spoke, did he have an accent?”

“Not that I remember.”

“Did he smell like anything? Do you remember any odors or scents?”

“Cigars,” Grace said immediately. “I didn’t remember that until you asked the question, but he smelled like cigar smoke.”

“Anything else at all that you can recall about him?”

Grace sat quietly, thinking, eyes fixed on the bed sheet as she creased it between her fingers. “He had on black work boots, the heavy looking kind. That’s all I can think of.”

“You’ve given me a lot. If you think of anything else, no matter how small it might seem, let me know.” The detective waited for Grace’s nod before going on. “I know you said you’re sure you don’t know the man who grabbed you, but do you have any idea what this may have been about?”

“I do,” she responded softly. “At least I think so.”

The detective’s expression didn’t change, but I could swear I felt his attention sharpen.

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